


OutWest

by La_colette



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:13:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_colette/pseuds/La_colette
Summary: Jesse leaves the Deadlock gang months before a raid ever happens. Drifter Jesse still has a way of attracting trouble.





	OutWest

**Author's Note:**

> Future Girlfriend 音楽 - Your Grill - on loop forever.

 

 

 

0.

 

_My sweet Jesse, you are a good boy, yet you do bad things._

 

Ain’t it always that same story. He’s been breaking his mother’s little heart since he was born. Sometimes in sweet ways, but mostly through bruises and broken bones. All the while she still cooks for him, meat, rice, eggs, a lot of peppers and tomatoes. He knows the wonderful scent of her kitchen, small cramped and so homely. It’s only them, no daddy, not since he took as seed. Only thing his old man leaves is a pistol for his mother. She teaches him how to shoot when he’s five, they live in desert country, out west no law for miles. Gotta know how to defend yourself.

 

For his father to leave his mother in such a world, he says good riddance. Better this way that he’s the man, he knows best, even as his mother wraps up his knuckles from another fight.

 

The scenery of the vivid and yet stale desert is the backdrop to his youth. He’s seen so many lovely sunsets with the silhouette of the cactus overlaying the sun. He’s watched flowers bloom, seen snakes get eaten by other snakes. Jesse has watched dogs starve to death, seen the flowers that bloom from corpses, and subsequently dry into bleached bones in the sun. All these things have beauty and and are as deeply profound as they are insignificant. He’s seen the moon and the stars clean in the sky. His momma’s house in the desert is a sanctuary and a prison.

 

Jesse’s dry dusty little town in the middle of the sea of sand offers no stimulation for a boy like him. The buildings sit low, he’s never seen a building over two stories high. Everything is a mix of stone and wood out here. Tumbleweeds dance and skip through the roads, horses trot next to old seemingly ancient models of cars. Out of touch would be the word he would use for this place. Somehow it failed to modernize.

 

He supposes his mother loves it for this reason. They work hard, she teaches him what she knows, through books, through words, and through her actions. His mother’s tanned skin shines in the sunlight and glows in the moonlight. He wishes for her color, but never quite gets there no matter how many days he spends in the yard. His momma stashes two custom shotguns. Smaller than usual and there's a trick to emptying the shells. He asks where she got such a thing and why she knows so much about guns.

 

“ _Ah, as a girl I got to do gun shows with my papa.”_

 

She laughs as he tries to twirl his gun. She teaches him how to do it, how to reload fast, faster, the fastest. His fondest memories of her are the crinkles in her face as she laughs and smiles. His momma fusses over her gray hairs, her crinkles, all that age. Yet, all he can see is her beauty, he wants her to get more gray, get more wrinkles for it means time. So long as those add up, it means they have time to pass together. She stands in the doorway wrapped in her serape as he nails the fence. She smiles and that’s all he needs most days.

 

 _Momma, momma, momma._ His first words, poignant joyful cries for her to be by his side.

 

He’s fifteen and aches in places old men cry about, yet he carries himself with all the swagger he can muster. Jesse is a veteran, can shoot the bottle across the yard with ease. Sometimes he shoots bottles and sometimes he shoots people. Jesse has stood in that yard and practiced for hours, days, weeks, years, and twice his lifetime in his dreams. Jesse masters fanning the hammer, he teaches he's himself how to load while rolling, he teaches himself how to shoot six seeming instantaneous shots, mostly he teaches himself how to have light feet. He’s a tall lanky thing, and tries to avoid being clumsy and uncoordinated.

 

With all that skill Jesse becomes adept at lifting purses, in fact he becomes infamous from it.

 

His mother weeps when he buys her jewelry. She knows the boy does not have the money and laments where he could receive such sums. He’s fifteen and she stops asking him to stop stealing with words and instead gives him the most tragic set of eyes he's ever seen. He vows to stop, try to get real work, but he has no other talent. He’s got the gift and talk and all the other talents of a petty criminal. He wonders if he’s blessed with these devilish tendencies from his old man.

 

He’s doubtful. For his mother’s good is all he’s known.

 

So a time comes. Where like all those tragic criminal boys he loses his anchor. Fever takes her as suddenly as it hits her. He buries her in their yard next to her tree. He sits for a long time next to the mound. No cross, no plaque, no markings, she never believed in no god and neither did he.

 

It’s about now he offers himself up to the Deadlock Gang.

 

So with his mother long gone, Jesse McCree saunters from petty criminal and descends into darker schemes he could imagine.

 

 _He’s a sweet boy,_ **but a bad man.**

 

\--

 

Four years after joining Deadlock, he considers a different life. A simpler one. After a failed attempt to break up the gang’s operations two years earlier things have been rougher. As Jesse’s notoriety rises and his wanted pictures become more accurate, he muses about leaving. Mulls over it as he shoots, as he smokes, as he watches.

 

The gang moves from weapon smuggling to drugs. From drugs they expand into the world of human trafficking, and that’s what breaks him. Children in fucking cages being bought and sold like cattle. Some of the other members quietly look away, others embrace it. They wash away their guilt in money, wipe the blood off in money, and blame greed, but most do not blame themselves. He can’t stop thinking of the women, the boys, the men, and those little girls. He’s sick at night, he ages in what seems like years, but is only months into their side business.

 

After months of weeping people in cages he speaks up at the table.

 

“I don't like this much. This people business, is gonna bring us down.”, he says as he lights up the end of his cigar. He blows smoke and leans back in his chair. One man at the table, Edgar, drags his folded hands under the table and looks at him. Edgar is a weathered man, graying, walks with a limp, but is easily still one of the best snipers in the gang. Darker skinned, attractive in his aging with a mature handsome face. They talked privately about saying something, but neither has actually brought it up. Jesse was uncertain if the man would back him he said anything, but if need be Edgar can sit with his hands folded under the table. He’s not afraid of his odds alone.

 

There is a long pause before the head speaks, “Well, we ain’t here to discuss that McCree. But, we’re family so please voice your concerns.” Marcus, is the new standing leader since the last one passed on two years prior. He’s elevated profits to attractive new heights whilst simultaneous dragging this gang to a new low.

 

Emily, was the last leader. A lady who ran the gang like a small democracy. The gang’s biggest draw was that everyone had a voice and could say no. That’s how you keep people, by talking. Where Em’ ruled in camaraderie and free talk, Marcus rules with bullets and the silence that follows.

 

He’s knows the risk of speaking out, but he has a better chance of opposing in public. While fear is effective, tyranny can only reach so far in public. Jesse knows in front of all these people Marcus will play to his hand and allow free-talk. He’ll pay for it later, privately.

 

Ah, so it will go that route. McCree chews the end of his cigar a bit, and raises his eyebrow.

 

“I don’t like the kids much, what use they gonna be other than some sicko’s fantasies. At least no more kids. Just unpleasant. I ain’t into this slavery ring, some of them turn up sick like, not just that this large of a show, someone is bound to notice. We got lucky with that crack down two years ago and-”

 

Marcus slams his hand on the table. “We do not speak of that raid, many good people we lost that night. Too many good people” , for show he looks around the table. The vast majority of it’s members nod in agreement.

 

Something's off. McCree can sense it. Something isn’t well-

 

Edgar shallows a bit, but shakily brings his folded hands back onto the table before speaking, “I agree with McCree. I mean, we… we never did this stuff when Emily was in char-”

 

“-Emily was fool, you guys want to be small town forever lifting purses for fucking pocket change forever. I ain’t doing that, we’re expanding. Y’all didn’t give two shits about ripping shekels from the poor, don’t pretend y’all gone and grew a fucking conscious. What about murder? You done shoot and killed an yet seem to be lacking- What y’all seem to be lacking in is the stomach, y’all two got balls to fuck up my nice meeting here, but I’ve been real nice letting the two of mutter around behind my back. You think I don’t know? No more of this shit, you want out? You got an’ out,” the sound of a gun being cocked echoes in the room. “I don’t like traitors much, you boys saying you disagree with the gang? Y’all traitors?”

 

And with that it effectively kicks McCree’s teeth in. He tips his hat, “I don’t like it, but I love my family more. I got the stomach for this, but I ain’t for it.” He states. Under the table his hand spins the bullet chamber. Six shots.

 

He sends a pointed look to Edgar.

 

Edgar sighs and shrinks.

 

Marcus smiles and details plans to expand all the way to Nebraska.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen we’re taking the West by storm.”

 

 

\--

 

 

Despite the threat and his worries there’s no repercussion in the weeks that follow, or months thereafter.

 

Edgar and him play cards a lot after that. Jesse learns how to play Blackjack. He’s great at it and has no real equal anymore. So Edgar teaches him card tricks, Jesse picks up them quick, he’s a fast learner. Soon Edgar smokes with him in his room, they drink, they laugh, they talk too much. He has a lot of fun with guy.

 

He tells the man to call him Jesse.

 

Jesse finds he likes to show off in front the older man. He shows him his own tricks, tricks his momma taught him with guns. Edgar is woefully terrible at them. “Good thing all I gotta do is sit on my ass and shoot.” The graying man says with a laugh. His face with it’s lines scrunches up with delight, Jesse enjoys the man’s deep laugh like a low humming. He finds himself watching, really watching.

 

He watches the stubble on the man's face, how it waxes and wanes like the moon. Time passes, and they laugh it away together or sit in a comfortable silence as smoke worms it’s way about his room. Edgar sitting backwards on Jesse’s wooden chair, and he sits cross legged on the bed.

 

He’s nineteen and Edgar is forty-one.

 

But he watches, can never tell if Edgar is watching back, or in what manner. Edgar’s limp is hardly there unless the day is long and they stand or sit for extended periods of time. Edgar says it was from a climbing accident, but Jesse is wise enough to pick up on he goes into no further details. The older man has been with the gang “too long” as he puts it. No wife, no children, he’s a single man and it suits this life best. His voice deep, lightly accented, when he speaks there is music in the way he talks.

 

When Jesse tells him this he laughs. Head thrown back, he laughs carelessly. He watches the older man play the guitar, he hums along while Edgar plays a melody.

 

Until one day, Edgar speaks.

 

“You shouldn’t look at me that way Jesse.” The older man says quietly, his rest his head in his hand, “Old enough to be your father, kid.”

 

It’s a hot day, and Jesse in the comfort of his room sits in his boxers and his wife-beater. Comfortable, while in contrast Edgar sits in his jeans and a button down, all wound up.

 

Jesse exhales, but doesn't hesitate, “Ain’t never had a dad, so I reckon I can look at you anyway I please. I seen you looking too old man.”

 

Edgar laughs, the younger man feels his face grow hot. “I suppose I might have looked, but I ain’t never tasted.”

 

A long pause, Jesse stares deep into the man eyes, “s’pose I want you to take a bite. You bring yourself next to me and I’ll treat you real nice like.” His lips feel dry so he licks them. The older man leaves the chair, to sit next to him.

 

“Real nice like?” Edgar replies with a smile.

 

McCree picks himself up to sit on the man’s lap. He grins as the older man grabs his hips, he tosses his ever present hat to the side with a loud laugh as he pushes the older man back onto the bed. “I know how to treat good company.”

 

He kisses the other man hard, teeth clink and gropes him wildly. Edgar is no wilting flower, he pushes back with a ferocity McCree thought him incapable of. He grabs at Jesse’s ass through his boxers. He pulls the boy’s hips in continuous friction. Edgar slides his hands under his boxers and pulls his cheeks apart for a second, “Can’t wait get my cock in that tight ass boy.” A finger brushes for a millisecond against his puckered hole, he shudders above the man.

 

**“Fuck-”**

 

He can feel his cock hardening as he grinds against the rough denim.

 

“Oh yeah boy we’re going to ‘fuck’,” something about the way he calls him ‘boy’ hits his body with electricity. Jesse is no stranger to sex, rough sex, dispassionate sex, and desperate sex. But he’s never felt the intensity on this level, Edgar is a man in the realist sense of the word. They’ve spent so much time together recently he can’t help but feel that-

 

“Ah!”

 

He gets a sharp swat on the ass that breaks his train of thought.

 

Another sharp swat, “Best keep your mind here, you got a tendency to wander up there kid. Be a good boy and treat me nice like you said, hm?”

 

Jesse is going to be a reaaaallll good boy.

 

He descends on Edgar’s neck with fervor.

 

Tasting at the salty skin, he can smell the light dab of cologne still clinging to Edgar’s skin. He sucks fervently. Teeth nipping pulling, wanting to to tear into Edgar’s skin, strip away the burning desire coursing through his blood. He soothes every bit of flesh he tears into with his tongue. Edgar’s moans spur him on. He paws at the mans chest, strong hands knead his ass encouragingly.

 

Jesus fuck he wants this.

 

“Mhmmm,”

 

He loves it, Jesse rocks onto Edgar’s lap. The older man’s cock tents through the denim, impressive and tantalizingly hard as the boy does his best to rub his clothed erection.

 

“Let me get you on that bed…”

 

Jesse doesn’t recall who said it, doesn’t sound like either of them. The voice low, needy, raspy.

 

They wrestle out of their clothes, all but ripping it away. Careless of everything all they bite and nip at each other. Jesse is underneath the older man, hand clenching and clawing at his naked back as their freed erections rub and tease at each other. He mewls into Edgar’s mouth, needy sweating with desire.

 

\--

 

It’s dark but the moon is strong through the tiny window.

 

Edgar looks at Jesse stroking his hair gently. Looking at all that youth, all that pretty.

 

Jesse is spent, he’s feeling good, what’s the word? Content! He’s content. Eyelids closed, thoroughly fucked out. He’s gonna drift off and call this day a good one. He sighs-

 

“You should should leave on a night darker than this one.”

 

His eyes snap open. Edgar stares straight at him, “Take a bag next time I’m on point put it out, but nearby. Not odd if you carry all that a bit a time.” the older man states.

 

“I’m not leaving the gang.” Jesse mutters, it’s a lie.

 

The older man chuckles and his wrinkles pull at his face. “I’m an old dog Jesse, and i like my yard, bones and all. I’m staying here, but you, you’re different than me.” The man grabs at Jesse’s chin, “All that youth is waiting to drift elsewhere ain’t it? Ought go, you don’t wanna be here in a few months, something’s coming.” He whispers.

 

He shifts fixing the older man with an inquisitive look. “What do you mean?”

 

“Can’t you simply trust I’m old and wise. More than one way to deal with problems here.”

 

“The fe-”

 

Edgar chuckles cutting him off, “Get some sleep and dream.”

 

Jesse obeys fully for once.

 

His head is full of spurs in his dreams, but at one point he's certain he sees his mother by a tree.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Been sitting on like two different versions of this story for a minute. I was hesitant to post anything for a long while. Contemplated. And lo and behold here it is. Haven't contributed anything to the fic community in years. Rusty af, but hopefully people find it interesting enough. Looking forward to seeing you all in the next chapter.


End file.
